The Mother:The Ballad of Lillith
by J. Anne Brown
Summary: This is the story of how the vampires began, the tale of their origins, told by the original Mother, Lillith, and her children, Stefan and Vladimir.
1. Chapter 1: Beginnings and Endings

**Preface:**

_**It was cold on the mountainside. The sun had just sunk into the western horizon, leaving a blood-red sky washed with streaks of black cloud. Curiously appropriate. **_

_**The wind screamed around us, tangling our cloaks around our legs, swirling the clouds of sickly-sweet smoke into streamers of purple mist, stinging the eyes and burning the mouth as it rose, spiraling from the heaps of ashes and ruined buildings on the ground far below. I took a deep breath in; it raised the gorge in my throat, a feeling left over from mortality that I had not experienced in many, many years.**_

_**The taste of my children, burning on my tongue. The taste of my beloved, turning my stomach. The taste of my sister, the bright mirror of myself, gagging me. The taste of my mother, prickling my eyes to tears that would never come.**_

_**I had never hated so much, never dreamed I was capable of it. I had never claimed to be an angel or a saint, or even a good man. I had been witness to atrocities, had even committed many myself. But even still I had never imagined the capacity for such animosity in me. I felt it churning within my chest like a living thing, a worm of diseased conception, cocooned inside me. I wondered vaguely what it would grow into. I did not really care.**_

_**I did not dare to look toward Vladimir. I knew if I did I would see a mirror of my own hate in his face, the same blind, impotent fury, the same agonizing grief, perhaps even more. He was even more passionate than me due to his basic nature. We had been brothers for many, many years; I could feel his pain like my own, emanating from him in waves--but his was hot like the burning sun, whereas mine was cold, colder than ice. As always, we complemented each other, even now. We were rendered utterly motionless, crushed into stillness by the weight of it all.**_

_**Everything we had dreamed of, had built, was gone. Vanished in this accursed smoke. I could see the ruins of our castles across the valley, burning as our children were. My mind briefly flashed back to the moment I had realized it was too late: we had sat still too long, had allowed them to get too close, to take us by surprise. The horribly numb, artificial blackness and burning pain of the witches' touch had paralyzed us, but they had left our ears clear, to be able to hear the screams and shrieks and cries of our beloved ones being destroyed around us. I still did not know how we had escaped; I remembered regaining the ability to move suddenly, Vladimir gasping in shock beside me, hundreds of feet below among the fallen rocks at the base of this cliff. We had scrambled up the slope to see what had happened, and upon gaining a clear view of the valley below had been stilled by the sheer magnitude of the devastation. Gone. All gone. **_

_**The murderers were long gone, leaving nothing but their stink behind, a clear trail for us to follow if we dared. An invitation to further slaughter. I wasn't disillusioned enough by my grief and anger to imagine that such a pursuit would end in anything for myself and my brother except for our deaths... And although I hungered to the core of my being for death, for an end to this pain, to not have to experience however many more endless, empty years awaited me in this immortal existence of ours...I wanted something else even more.**_

_**They would pay. They would pay dearly. And we were patient and crafty enough to wait for that payback, would enjoy every drop of it, savored and treasured, vengeance sweeter than any hot blood could ever be.**_

_**That was my vow.**_

**Chapter One: **_**Lilith Speaks**_

_Come, my children, I will tell you a tale of beginnings. Not _the_ beginning, for that took place long before I was even dreamed of, but _a _beginning, _my_ beginning, which is the beginning of you all._

_You have never heard this song, this ballad of your birthing, the story of your start. You have wandered as orphans through this world, ignorant of your history, knowing only yourselves and your own deeds, blind and deaf to the root of things that binds you all together, you, my beautiful, wild, passionate, contentious, wonderful shining children. Come sit with me and hear what was, and learn something of yourselves, to realize what could be. Perhaps, with this knowledge, you may come to a better understanding of yourselves, may come to someday truly grow into the glory that you have inherited but never used._

_Riches untold are yours for the taking..._

* * *

My tale begins long, long ago. I remember very little of my early childhood; all I have now are vague but still vividly-colored snatches of memory. I remember the dusty streets of a town which today no one even remembers its name, and dirty bare feet scuffing up that dust; I remember hunger and thirst, never having enough; I remember the laughs and cries of my sisters and brothers, and the warmth of our bodies tangled together like a litter of puppies on a too-small bed. I remember the softness of my mother's voice and the roughness of my father's hands and beard. I remember believing that I was mostly happy, for I did not know what happiness really was; I also remember being frightened when one day my father took my wrist in an iron fist and hauled me from that crowded bed into the cold darkness before dawn, taking me away from it all, far away, to Ur, which even then was already a great city. This was 3500 years before the birth of the one they came to call the Christ, in a place that is now called Sumeria.

I had always known I was different. Where my family was, one and all, dark-skinned, dark-haired, dark-eyed, I was fair and had hair the color of the evening sky after a dust storm, a golden red. I also remember my mother drawing a wide-toothed bone comb through my hair when I was small and _tsk_ing over it, her words distant memories but still clear even now, "Ach, child, such beauty can only bring trouble. Better to have been born dark like the others." My eyes were light, too, they said, but I had never seen them before, except vaguely in an ewer of water held by the local priest during my name-day consecration. They were blue, dark blue like lapis lazuli. They called me Lilith, "lady of the air", because the priests and priestesses told my mother and father I was born to be consecrated to the winds. A grand name for the daughter of a basket-weaver and a potter, to my shame.

I tried to ignore the stares and whispers, tried to blend into the background, but it never quite worked. I remember hiding in alleys behind heaps of garbage to escape my older brothers and their friends as they chased me with reeds to whip my fair skin into red welts, they laughed at me, called me a sport of nature, a strange thing not meant to be. I cursed my fairness and my difference every day, once I became aware of it at an early age. My mother's prophetic mutterings one day came true too soon—my father dragging me to Ur, when I was twelve, the month after the first flow of blood announced that I was of age.

I remember Ur as a maelstrom of colors and smells and sounds: gray dust, gleaming gold and brass, vibrant colors on the market stall tents; the sweat and dung and burning incense and roasting meat permeating the air; the braying of asses and of men, barking dogs, merchants hawking their wares, rumbling cartwheels, the screams of slaves at the lash of the whip as they hauled their great blocks of stone up the stepped sides of the ziggurats. My father never let go of my wrist. We passed under the great city gates and down the long, straight boulevard to the Temple, the Great Temple of Inanna, impossibly huge, blazing with torches and blindingly clad in bronze, flowers everywhere, the clanging of the gongs and murmurs of the faithful.

My father left me for one moment to confer with a white-clad priestess. Here, there were no priests, only priestesses: women, beautiful women and plain women and old and young women, clad in soft linen skirts that fell in ruffled layers down to their clean, sandal-clad feet, their necks and wrists and ears adorned with gold and silver, one breast usually proudly displayed while the other was concealed by a fold of the same fabric as their skirts. Their hair was braided and long, studded with flowers or pearls, coiled elaborately. The coloring of the women was varied, many dark like my family and everyone else I knew, but there were also, intriguingly, several women of lighter coloring like myself. I was fascinated, and thrilled to see other people like myself. Perhaps I wasn't a sport of nature after all.

The woman my father spoke to was older, clutching an armful of clay tablets, a stylus stuck behind one ear, a record-keeper. She sat cross-legged on the ground by the front entrance, shaded by an open-sided tent of beautiful dark-blue cloth. I waited by the little stall selling sacrificial birds, my eyes drawn like magnets to the fluttering inhabitants of the reed cages. Poor little pigeons and doves and wrens and sparrows, singing their last songs before the devout could proffer them upon the altar, their skinny little necks wrung dry in the hopes that their blood would appease the Goddess and bring luck or fertility or love requited or success in war. I looked up for a moment when I felt their eyes upon me, my father and the woman, whose sharp gaze took my measure in seconds and seemed to find me wanting.

"Who told you to bring her here?" I heard the woman say crossly. "We took in the last of the novitiates last month. Surely she can't catch up in that time. Too much." She clucked her tongue in annoyance.

My father grunted, sighed. "We have been journeying for two months, Mother. The road was long, and the winter storms made travel almost impossible in some places. We came as fast as we could.¨ He rubbed his bearded chin in frustration. "The priestess at home said she was to be consecrated here, not there. She has been dedicated to Inanna since her birth. It was a great hardship for us, Mother, to come here as we were told. Please." His gaze was pleading as he looked at the priestess. I was shocked, I had never heard that tone in his voice before; my father, who beat my mother every day for the principle of it, a man of hard words and harder fists—pleading with a woman? For me? The strange daughter he hardly looked at? We had spoken barely ten words on that horrible, dusty voyage.

The woman squinted at me again, this time seeming to find more value in her assessment. She put down her tablets and hauled herself to her feet with a grunt, and gestured imperiously toward me. "Come here, girl. Let me see you better. These old eyes are weak. Come here."

I went obediently, as I had been taught. I submitted myself to her examination, let myself be poked and prodded like a horse at auction. She looked at my teeth and the whites of my eyes, felt my stomach and thighs like she was seeing how much meat there was to take to roast on the brazier. She reached up and took one of the plaits of my hair in her leathery hand, turning it around, looking at it in the sunlight, to see it gleam. I felt a flush of shameful pride—my hair was my only vanity. Finally she grunted again, turned to my father.

"So, is she a virgin?" I flushed red, and cursed my fair skin.

My father flushed darker as well, not from embarrassment but from anger. His jaw tightened and he fairly spit the words out. "Yes, of course. My wife and I are devout. The priestess at home tested her." He paused and shot a sidelong look at me, flushed again and looked away. "And she has always been a good, obedient girl. Strange, but well-mannered." The last part was said grudgingly, and shocked me to my core again.

I flushed again at the memory of that examination months ago, at remembering that burning, shameful feeling, as the old priestess was fumbling between my thighs and murmuring happily to herself that I was intact. Humiliating.

This priestess twisted her wrinkled mouth in thought. She turned to me again, spoke to me again. "So, girl, are you intelligent? Can you read at all? Do you want to learn?"

I felt an explosion of excitement at the thought, the idea of learning to read like the priestess and the priests, like the prosperous merchants. I knew how to put my name, I knew my numbers and the basic symbols of our cuneiform alphabet, but no more, and I told her so as humbly as I could. I knew it was a lot for a potter's daughter to know, and had often wondered why I was allowed to learn when my sisters weren't. It had added to the bitter feelings of my sisters toward me, to be excluded. "But I want to learn, Mother, I truly do!" I said.

She clucked her tongue. "Well, child, you're pretty enough to get anything you want, but beauty without brains is nothing but a flower withering in the sun." Her black eyes glinted in challenge. "The life of a novitiate is a hard one. There is privation, denial, you must learn discipline and commit all the ceremonial lore to rote, you must be willing to consecrate yourself mind, body and soul to the veneration and propagation of the worship of our Mother, Inanna." She tugged sharply on my braid, the pain causing me to see stars for a moment. " Are you willing to do this? To never see your family again, perhaps? To never marry, to have children only at the Goddess's wish? To perhaps die at Her command?"

I wasn't sure at first. I had always wondered why I was treated differently, as if something else besides normal life was destined for me. But I had always thought that "normal" was "right," although I knew it was not for me. I had spent so many hours at the feet of our priestess back home, hearing the legends, learning about the ceremonies, that it seemed it would be easy for me. But to never have a home, a husband, maybe never children? What kind of a freakish woman is that?

But then I thought about the other things such a life would entail: a freedom my mother or sisters had never, would never have. To not have to toil day in and day out, exhausting my body with work and childbearing and always having to bend to others' wishes. The ability to learn, to experience new and interesting things. To be part of something so profound, so deep, so fulfilling. To be able to begin to understand the touch of the divine fabric of the spirit world, a world which I'd always keenly felt even in the midst of my anguish or feeling so different and strange.

"Yes, Mother. I am willing. I want to."

She blinked and nodded as if she'd been expecting that answer. But her eyes narrowed and she pointed one bony finer at me:"We shall see, girl. Many say that but end up running into the night after a few days. We shall see."

And with that, my old life ended, and my new life began.

True to the old priestess's words, I never saw my family again, except one time at High Festival, during the corn harvest, years later. It was a special time, a conjunction of planets and the moon that only happened in harmony with the harvest every fifty years. My father and oldest brother had made the pilgrimage from home to offer sacrifices at Inanna's temple, as well as at Tammuz's shrine nearby—my brother was getting married, and wished to obtain a special blessing. I saw them from far away, felt a jolt of shock at seeing them there among the crowd. They did not recognize me, but why should they? By then I had changed so much I barely recognized myself. But what surprised me was that I felt nothing at seeing them; no regret, no desire to dash down among the throng to find them, to hold them and tell them I was well and happy. I somehow knew they would not really care, that they considered me dead for all intents and purposes. I had found my place there, in that temple, among those women, and felt no wish whatsoever to return to that drab, dirty existence, or to even remember it anymore. I turned away without regret, never looking back.

Those next few years, after my consecration, were hard, as the priestess had promised, but I reveled in my new environment. The strict discipline was not difficult for me to maintain after years of scarcity and harsh treatment by my father; the heavy study load was manageable. I was a fast learner, and found I had a good memory, a talent with words and numbers.

The only thing that I hated was the first day, when they shaved my head. I cried like a little girl, seeing my long braids coil like red-gold snakes in the dust by my feet. The priestess in charge of the novices slapped my face and told me to shut up, that vanity was a stumbling block to true understanding, that one day I'd be glad for this lesson. I shut up, dried my tears, and tried not to see myself in any reflective surfaces for a long, long time. But the woman was right: by the time my hair had grown back again, I had realized that freedom from vanity was a doorway to a world of heightened reality, and that knowledge of one's self, realization that you are beautiful is different from vanity. Inanna the Beautiful, Goddess of Love, Fertility, Beauty and War, the most lovely thing in the heavens, has no mirror. She IS the mirror. She shines her glory upon all around her, magnified by and magnifying the wonders of the universe. How ironic, how these things I held to so strongly as "truths" would be shattered and changed so soon after committing to them.

I knew that one day I would finish my training and be expected to take my place in the Temple, and what that would entail. I would be the Goddess for one night. I would embody the divine and consummate the Great Marriage, to bless the crops and the cities and the people, to bring light and life to my world. All of us there would take our spots beneath the incarnation of Tammuz and complete the circle. The idea frightened me, as it did all my sister-novices, but the fear was something we had to learn to master, because it was part of what we were. There was no shame in it, being the vessel of the holy; the union of god and goddess, of man and woman, was nothing but natural and sacred. But that knowledge still didn't keep me from writhing in consternation when the date for my rite was set, on the day of the High Festival the year that I would turn 18.

That day was fast approaching.

At least I could take some comfort in the knowledge that I was not destined to be a temple prostitute, one of the lower-ranking priestesses whose duty it was to lay with the supplicant men every day of their lives. That was different from the Great Marriage, and although I knew it was still holy and there should be no shame in it, I still thanked the Great Mother every morning, noon, and night for my luck, to be designated as a higher priestess, to serve the High Priestess in the Goddess's sanctuary and perhaps someday to BE the High Priestess herself. The thought thrilled me.

Until then, I had never seen the High Priestess except from a great distance, once, even after living in the Temple for almost four years at that time. She kept apart, in her own private quarters, and held rites only for the more advanced priestesses. I remember my impression of her was that she was beautiful, breathtakingly so. And I also knew that that one sight of her had changed the course of my life yet again, as dramatically as when my father dragged me to the Temple.

I had been in the Temple for four years at that point, and had progressed quickly from novice to lay-priestess, with a complement of duties and responsibilities. That afternoon I had been carrying an armful of tablets from the scriptorium to the storage room, and had to cross the wide open courtyard from one building to the next. When I saw the procession of white-clad priestesses exit the Sanctum to my left I stopped still in the shade of one of the palm trees that dotted the courtyard in stands, struck motionless with curiosity. I knew the only person worthy of such a procession was her. I crouched behind the palm and struggled to see her through the phalanx surrounding her.

Like me, she was pale, like all of the "special" ones such as myself that were chosen from birth because of our difference. Still, she was the palest person I had ever seen. Her skin was white, whiter than bleached linen, and when she crossed through a sunbeam in the colonnaded walkway that morning I swore I saw her skin glitter like diamonds, throwing rainbow prisms into the air around her. Her long dark golden hair was unbound, falling in waves to the backs of her knees; she moved sinuously, gracefully, like a serpent through the sand; and even though I could not see her face clearly from that distance, I knew that she was the most lovely thing I had ever seen. I felt jealousy course through me like a shameful flame, and screwed my eyes shut until I could master my envy. When I opened them again the procession had stopped, and to my chagrin I realized that she had seen me there, watching her.

She looked at me for a long moment, and although I could not tell what color her eyes were, I saw that they were dark, captivating, and focused entirely upon me, in all my shame there behind the tree, surrounded by my tablets which had been dropped in shock. A small smile twisted up one side of her lovely, generous mouth; I saw a glint of shining white teeth. And I saw again the sparkling of her skin, as she leaned forward toward me through her retinue, the sunlight striking the side of her face and catching her golden hair on fire. She turned her head slightly to say something quietly to the priestess next to her, never taking her eyes from mine. I felt captured by her gaze, felt like I was smothering, my breath coming in ever-faster gasps. I was frightened, but I didn't know exactly why. Was I to be reprimanded? Had I committed an offense of some kind, by staring at her? I didn't know of any such precepts, but I was just barely out of the novitiate, and still ignorant of many things.

The other priestess glanced toward me, recognizing me, and replied to the High Priestess; I thought I recognized the shape of my name on the woman's lips, and flushed even more in shame. The lovely golden-haired woman smiled again, then pursed her lips as if in thought. Then she nodded sharply once, saying something else to the other priestess. The woman looked at me again with her eyebrows raised as if in surprise, then nodded assent with whatever the High Priestess had said. Then the High Priestess smiled again at me, blinking lazily like a sleepy, satisfied cat, and proceeded into the Library without another glance at me.

I collapsed against the palm tree, breathless, and wondered what I had just witnessed. After a few moments I had the presence of mind to gather up my tablets and hurry to complete my errand, but my mind was filled with questions. What had they been saying? What did this mean?

It was only a day later when I got my answer.

I had originally been intended for the Keeper of the Records' staff. I had a good, sure hand with the stylus, and an excellent memory and grasp of mathematics and lore. They intended to use my skills there. Although it was not a glamorous assignment, at least it wasn't a temple prostitute's lot, or strangling birds on the common altar. But the day after my long-distance encounter with the High Priestess, that changed. A novice came to me while I was in the Library making an inventory of last year's grain tallies, bearing a summons from the Ward Mother. The Mother was the one in charge of ensuring that the residents of the Temple complex, some thousand women and girls, were properly fed, clothed, and housed at all times. I had met her several times; indeed, she was the one who had shorn me four years before as Novice Mother, prior to being given the assignment as Ward Mother. I hoped to make a better showing with her this time, and found myself twisting the linen of my skirt in consternation as I hurried to her office.

The older woman glanced up from a stack of scrolls and her eyes narrowed shrewdly.

"Lilith, correct?" Her voice was dry as papyrus.

I nodded assent.

She reached into another stack and withdrew a wax tablet. "Well, my dear, you have been re-assigned. You need to go and pack your things, to be moved to another dormitory."

I gasped. "Why, Mother? What have I done? Has the Keeper not found my work acceptable?" Once again, shame coursed through me like a flash flood. I hated failure.

She chuckled. "No, not by half." She flipped the wax tablet toward me. "Look at the seal, child. It's from the office of the High Priestess herself. You're to be placed on her staff, once you finish the next cycle. You will be living in the dormitory with her other Elect." She chuckled again. "The Keeper of the Records is devastated. She says she'll have to replace you with two girls."

My eyes widened with shock. I couldn't speak. It was a great, great honor to be chosen for the High Priestess's staff. It was thought to be the best position possible—the best food, the best clothing and quarters, the least offensive duties. And the idea of being close to her! To learn from her! I was staggered. What had I done? I finally found my voice and asked the Mother just that. She ruefully shrugged her shoulders and smiled back at me.

"I do not know, child, but I do know that you need to obey with alacrity. Get going!"

I fled.

Now two years later, I still had not seen the High Priestess again. Shortly after my re-assignment to her staff, she left Ur and did not return for another two years. The priestess directly below her, Shahanna, was a kind woman who taught me much. I looked forward to being able to properly serve the High Priestess when she returned. I had realized it wasn't an uncommon thing for the priestesses to not see her; apparently, she came and went frequently, had a very close personal staff of retainers, and was very private, as her position demanded.

We got the word that she was returning from her long absence a few weeks before the High Festival, before my turn to consummate the Great Marriage. My feelings of eagerness at finally being able to serve her mingled with my trepidation at my role in the rites ahead. I was afraid; I hadn't set eyes on a man since the day my father brought me to the Temple, except for occasional glimpses of slaves and laborers from the Temple walls. The chastity of the priestesses of Inanna was strictly enforced: any woman caught in compromising situations with a man, any man, would be disciplined severely—the mildest punishment was banishment, the strongest, death. None of my sister-priestesses dared to challenge this; it was our sacred duty to remain pure, and it was an honor.

The High Priestess returned with much pomp and fanfare late in the afternoon two weeks before the Festival. I was helping to supervise the preparations in her private kitchens for the welcoming banquet that night when I heard the trumpets sound. I ran to the windows with the others and leaned out, wide-eyed with anticipation.

There she was in the courtyard below, once again surrounded by her retinue of white-clad priestesses, reclined on a dark-blue, cushioned palanquin, her golden hair shining, her white skin gleaming in the warm, fading sunlight. I was dazzled. Then I noticed something that staggered me.

Sitting next to her in the palanquin was a man.

He was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, even next to her. His skin was white, blindingly so, like hers. His black hair hung in gleaming waves to his shoulders, his perfectly muscled body swathed in royal purple. He had one arm around her, familiar, affectionate; she gazed at him fatuously. After listening to her say something he threw back his head and laughed, the most gorgeous sound I had ever heard, like the ringing of great bells. His teeth glistened in his laughter. I saw his face perfectly, and felt as if I had never been alive before that moment, until I first saw him.

I felt my cheeks flush and my knees grow weak with something I had never experienced before. I was dizzy, and felt my breath come in gasps like I had been running for miles. I could not take my eyes from his face, from him.

As if he could hear my pounding heart, the man looked up directly to the window I hung from, and his dark eyes found me. A slow, warm smile stretched across his face, his eyes locked on mine. I felt as if I was caught inside a whirlwind, my body tingling, my thoughts chaotic.

I felt the sharp jab of an elbow in my side and finally tore my gaze from the man, to see who had poked me. Palia, the sister-priestess with whom I shared a chamber, was staring at me in disapproval. She was quite a bit older than me, plain, and rather bitter; we had never particularly gotten along. I had always felt guilty about that--I knew subconsciously that she was jealous of me, and it was shameful to us both.

"What are you staring at, Lilith? It's improper." She knew who I'd been looking at, and she recognized what I was feeling even when I didn't: lust. Instant chemical attraction. Something we were explicitly to avoid.

I ducked my head in embarrassment, but I couldn't help but ask. "Who is that?" I whispered.

She rolled her eyes. "It's the High Priest of Tammuz. He journeyed here with the High Priestess from Akkad for the High Festival."

My eyebrows raised. Illogically, moronically, I felt my stomach drop in chagrin and disappointment. Traditionally, the High Priest of Tammuz and the High Priestess of Inanna were consorts, the earthly embodiments of the celestial lovers who blessed the universe with their union. "So, they are...together?" I asked stupidly.

Palia snorted. "Of course they are. What does it matter to you? We have other things to attend to." With that I let her pull me away from the window, although I felt like my soul was still lingering there, trapped by his eyes. The last thing I saw was that the High Priestess had looked up as well, her eyes narrow with suspicion. I do not know if she saw me, but a thrill of dread traveled down my spine.


	2. Chapter 2: Trial By Fire

CHAPTER 2:

He was everywhere.

For the past week it seemed like every place I went, every place I looked, he was there. The High Priest of Tammuz, seeming to anticipate my every move.

He did not come close, not at first. I would see him across a courtyard, lounging in the sun; sitting among a crowd of admiring women, laughing that easy, lazy laugh and smiling his glittering smile; leaning against a column or a wall or a tree. Every time I saw him he locked eyes with me and smiled that same slow, sly smile I had seen that first afternoon. His gaze was bold, familiar, and when it fixed upon me I froze like a mouse beneath a hawk, breathless, shameful, chagrined, my breathing labored. Sometimes, if he was alone, he would crook a finger at me, like a summons, and grin impishly, his eyes flashing with mischief, promising things I had never dared think of before. It was the hardest thing I had ever done; I would duck my head and turn the opposite direction, even if it meant having to go the long way around to my destination, drenched in sweat and trembling. I was determined to do the right thing. I had no real idea what his fixation with me was, why would he waste even a moment considering me when he had the High Priestess in all her glory to feast his eyes on? Why was I being toyed with?

My resolve to resist the was strengthened one morning when I received a summons to attend to the High Priestess herself in her private quarters. Palia gritted her teeth in frustration; even after fifteen years in service on the High Priestess's staff, Palia had never been called into her actual presence. I tried not to feel too much pride and attempted to make myself as invisible as possible as I prepared myself that morning, paying strict attention to every detail. My skirts had to be spotless and hang just right, not a wrinkle in sight; my hair had to be plaited tightly, coiled into an intricate arrangement around my ears and fixed with new pearl pins. I outlined my eyes with kohl and put on my best jewelry, a silver serpent with lapis lazuli eyes coiled around my upper arm, silver hoops at my ears, a stud in my nose. All the pieces had been given as rewards over my years of service; a priestess was expected to be beautiful, to have beautiful things, to represent the Goddess Herself. I was beautiful, I knew that: I had seen it in _his_ eyes, and had always known it form the resentful way some of the other girls and women looked at me. I was not used to really caring for my beauty, though; in the Scriptorium, my old mistress had been dismissive of superficial things, and as often as not I was covered in dust from the clay tablets. I gazed at myself for a long moment in the polished bronze mirror, hoping I would satisfy, and quickly left my rooms, heart pounding inside my breast in anticipation.

The great, ornately carved double doors to her quarters were shut, two priestesses guarding the entrance. They nodded at me in acknowledgment and pulled the doors open before me, admitting me to the antechamber.

I gazed around in breathless wonder. Every surface was polished and gleaming, silver and bronze mirrors everywhere, beautiful urns and chalices throwing back the reflected light of hundreds of sweet-smelling beeswax candles ensconced on the frescoed walls. Flowers and greenery hung from the walls and coiled around the pillars, gorgeous fabrics covered the chaises and chairs and sofas distributed randomly around the main chamber. Her bed was visible through an arched doorway, gigantic, festooned with gossamer fabric in purples and blues, mountains of silk embroidered cushions and bolsters heaped there inviting one to relax...I blinked at the overwhelming richness of it all, humbled, even though I had become more used to seeing luxury since coming to the Temple six years before.

"So, child, you are Lilith?"

The voice was unexpected and at first I could not see where it came from. It was unlike any voice I had ever heard before, a rippling sound like a flurry of plucked harp strings, soft but perfectly audible. I turned to my left, seeking the direction the voice came from, and flushed in embarrassment, dropping my eyes immediately, but still not able to avoid seeing her.

She was rising from a sunken bathing pool at the far end of the chamber, stepping out onto the marble tiles carelessly, shining droplets of water running down her sleek skin and crashing like shattering diamonds on the floor. I was used to female nudity but it still shocked me, the impossible perfection of her body, ripe and womanly but unmarked by childbearing or age. Her hair, a darker gold now from the bath, hung over her shoulders and down her back; she wrung it out languidly, more water splashing down.

"Well, silly, are you going to bring me the towel or not?" She laughed. I blushed scarlet in shame and picked up one of the bath sheets that lay in neatly folded squares atop a chest to my left. Unfolding it as I walked toward her, I managed to swing it around her shoulders without touching her, which I felt would be inappropriate. She laughed again, my reluctance obvious. "I won't bite you, child. Don't fear me," she soothed.

I hesitantly raised my eyes to meet hers. I realized they were a dark brown, almost black, shining and reflective, but still deep enough to drown in. Utterly wise and all-knowing.

She wrapped the toweling round herself gracefully, stepped into sandals that had been waiting for her by the pool, and crossed the room to a long, low couch upholstered in a dark green velvet. Once she was sitting down she motioned to me, tucking her feet up under herself as she settled into the cushions. "Come, sit." She pointed to the floor in front of her, where a large embroidered pillow awaited me. I sat.

She polished her fingernails against the towel and gazed at them absently, then her eyes flickered to mine, evaluating me, it seemed. She took in every detail of me in seconds. She reached out and touched my hair, felt the braids along my temple, then ran her smooth finger down my cheekbone to my jaw, where it rested ultimately on my lips. I struggled not to tremble. I had no idea what to do, what was proper.

"I called you here because I have been told by my other attendants that you are a good, dutiful girl who shows much promise. They say you are intelligent and attentive to detail and modest." She smiled slightly. "I already knew you were pretty when I saw you two years ago and requested you transferred to my staff.¨ One perfect eyebrow lifted; she pursed her lips. "My staff must be beautiful. I cannot abide imperfection. Now I see you have grown from merely pretty to a beautiful young woman. I am pleased. I must have beauty around me always."

I flushed, torn between pride and embarrassment.

She lifted her finger from my lips and touched it to her own glistening temple. "My dear, I know your initiation rites are soon, and that you are frightened. Anyone would be. Would you like to discuss it?" I had no idea why it would matter to her. Surely she had other things to think of?

Her laughter echoed off the walls like pealing bells. "Ah, my child, yes, I see how modest you are!" she cried, delighted.

It was as if she had read my thoughts.

Her eyes narrowed and she smiled conspiratorially at me. "Exactly, Lilith." Her voice was lower this time, and cool. Her eyes were dark, crafty.

I gasped. "You hear my thoughts?" I whispered, then felt ashamed at my forwardness.

She laughed, but it was not a friendly sound this time. "Yes indeed, Lilith, I can. So please, do not fear to speak your mind—your thoughts already do it for you. Do not make yourself a liar and a fool."

I knew then that she knew all my secrets. I felt as if the floor had opened up to swallow me whole, wished I could flee from that place and never return in my shame.

An impossibly strong, pale hand caught my chin and yanked it up so I had to look at her. Her face was inches from mine, all flawless angles and curves, lips pressed together in a firm, determined line. My heart thudded against my breastbone so frantically I thought it would burst from my chest. Then she let me go, and abruptly stood up, striding away, across the room, to stand before a full-length silver mirror. She turned her head slowly from one side to the other, considering every angle of her face, ran her hands down the length of her torso, as if measuring.

She considered her reflection impassively, then turned to look at me again with those cold dark eyes. My fingers felt like ice, my mouth was dry with fear, the world seemed to spin. But then she smiled again, and the coldness was gone from her face, like it had never been there at all, all my imagination. The warm, beguiling tone returned to her voice. I felt like fainting in relief, but was bewildered at the bizarre mood swing.

"Do not worry, Lilith. I know your thoughts and I know what you are and are not guilty of. Let's just keep it that way, shall we?" I nodded so hard my neck seemed to cry out in protest.

"So." She beckoned me toward her; I rose, trembling, to go to her. Standing before her, I felt like my knees would give way, and went to kneel, but she caught my arm swiftly. Her grasp was cool, strong, and totally unbreakable. "Don't kneel before me, it is not necessary between those who understand each other, correct, my love?" she asked softly.

I nodded frantically, not knowing what else to do.

She let me go and turned around swiftly, striding toward her bedchamber. I slumped to the floor for a moment, barely breathing. It took a moment before I could collect my thoughts and rise again, following her.

Beside her gigantic bed was another archway, leading to a small clothing storage chamber. She stood amid a dizzying array of silks and linens in bewildering colors, all shining with silver or gold embroidery or bold patterns. "So, darling, help me decide what to wear. Tammuz is coming for dinner soon." And she laughed, a sound like pealing bells, warm and beautiful; it still sent a staggering bolt of fear into my heart.

I helped her dress and plait her hair, select her jewels and anoint herself with fragrant lotions and perfumes. She was so lovely it almost hurt to look at her. During the whole affair she chattered away affectionately, as if nothing strange had happened, as if she did not know at all that deep in my heart lurked a traitorous desire for her consort, as if she did not hear every terrified thought in my mind. I took my leave as quickly as I could, before _he_ could arrive and my thoughts could shame me even more. Her mocking laughter echoed after me.

"Come back tomorrow at dawn, sweetling. I have need of you then," she called.

I fled.

My life for the next week was like an excursion through the wilderness of hell.

The Hight Priestess kept me from sunup to sundown, waiting on her hand and foot. I brought her food and served it, then took away the plates; I drew her bath, helped her bathe, arranged her clothing, cleaned her chambers from top to bottom, fanned her with palm boughs when she complained of the heat, plumped her pillows...no menial, trivial detail detail was beneath me. Even though she had a small army of servants available on her staff, she made no use of them, only of me. I dropped into my bed at night exhausted, drained, and shaking, mentally shattered from the stress of dealing with her all day.

The woman was mercurial and changing as the winds in spring, one moment loving and affectionate, lavishing favors upon me; the next, her eyes and voice were cold and hard, and she seemed to delight in humiliating me. I wept into my pillow at night, and felt, for the first time in many years, empty and unwanted. I felt terribly guilty, even though I knew in my heart I had done nothing wrong but be in the wrong place at the wrong time, had allowed myself to be seen by a man whose affections were obviously as capricious as his consorts' moods.

It was horribly unjust, unfair. I knew it, but it was still a fact. And it tormented me that she knew it too, and reveled in the injustice. It also tortured me that a person whom I had been trained to revere and want to emulate for so long was in fact the kind of person who would take such obvious pleasure in treating someone else so meanly. Even worse, that she heard my every thought—for she often would mockingly recite back something that had flashed through my mind while we were together, reminding me of her ability—and it did not influence her. If anything, it seemed to worsen my plight. I had no idea what to do, except to endure, and pray to Inanna and every other god I knew that this would pass, that she would eventually realize that I was good, and would not betray her.

It worsened one day when I came to bring her breakfast and he was there.

I almost dropped the silver tray I was carrying, my whole body going numb with shock at seeing him there, reclining so casually on a chaise beside her bed. She lolled indolently across the bed, chin pillowed on her folded arms, feet crossed like a little girl's. They were laughing together, as if I had interrupted them in the middle of a joke. Her dark eyes flashed up to mine and a small, self-satisfied little smile turned up the corners of her full lips.

"Good morning, precious one!" Her voice was bright, carefree; she sat up, stretching languidly, catlike. "Put that over there." She gestured toward a small side table. I stumped across the floor clumsily, head down, trying to avoid his gaze. For he was looking at me, intently, amused, and seemed as if he felt there was nothing wrong with it at all.

I set down the tray and uncovered her food. She never ate anything but fruit and bread, occasionally a sweet made of honey, and drank nothing but wine or water. Never any meat or cheese, never anything cooked except the unleavened flatbread. I wondered how she could survive on such a diet and still look so healthy.

I felt her cool, strong hand caress my shoulder, come to rest on the back of my neck. I tensed, still as stone, waiting. She chuckled again, then sat down to eat. She did not ask him to join her.

"Do you require anything else of me, my lady?" I asked quietly, hoping for her blessing to leave. I could not bear being so close to him, could hardly reign in my thoughts, terrified they would betray me. Even after a so many days of being able to avoid him, so many days of trying to discipline myself, my heart still tripped over itself in my chest, knowing that he was so close, that he was looking at me.

She chewed thoughtfully on a grape for a moment, then smiled again. "Yes, darling, please gather up the linens from my bed and have them laundered." She glanced at him, her grin widening slyly. "I imagine they are quite dirty now, after last night!" She giggled like a child, but her laughter was wicked; I flushed crimson, staring down at my feet. My humiliation was doubled when I heard his laughter as well, low and sensual, join in with hers.

I gathered up the bedding and bundled it into the service chute, and busied myself tidying the room while the priestess ate.


	3. Chapter 3: Desire

**Chapter 3: **

Later, as I was on my way back to my room, he found me in the hallway.

"Lillith," came a whisper beside my ear, and I felt the touch of cool fingers against my neck, sliding down to my shoulder, leaving a trail of white-hot fire in their wake. "Why are you running from me, beautiful?"

I knew immediately who it was. How could I not? Even though we had never spoken, I had only heard his voice a handful of times, I would know it if I were asleep, or perhaps even if I were dead. I felt that voice in the marrow of my bones, vibrating a rhythm that coincided with every beat of my heart, every pulse of blood in my veins. It set me trembling, my knees were suddenly weak, and I had to put my hand out to catch myself.

He stepped closer, and I felt him pressed against me, every line of him hard. I felt him breathe in and out, the breath in my ear.

"Shhh," he whispered, and I felt his lips touch my ear. Not the air of his breath, this time it was the feel of skin against skin, his impossibly cool, mine impossibly hot. Those lips slid down, following that burning path his fingers had made before, ever downward, following the line of my back, to the curve of my bottom. My blood roared in my ears, my heart sputtered and galloped like a winded racehorse. "Shhh."

His fingers paused at the edge of my skirt, then slipped inside, his palm curving to cup my bottom. "Shhh…"

I stood there for an eternity, it seemed, but I know that it was only a few seconds. Indecision raged through me: what should I do?

But oh, please, let him move his hand, let him move it around to my front, let those fingers go further…

The High Priestess knew about this. Or, at least she would, the next time I came into her presence. She would know, and she would hate me even more, and she would punish me. I shuddered with dread, thinking about what punishments she could visit upon me for simply allowing him to touch me like this, for even entertaining these kinds of thoughts.

But why was he doing this? He had _her_. He had the most dazzlingly gorgeous woman I had ever seen. Why waste time on me? Was he simply torturing me? Playing with me?

Testing me?

I stepped away from him, although it felt like my whole body might shatter into a million pieces, being separated from his touch.

"My lord, this is not proper. If the High Priestess found out…" I couldn't bring myself to face him, to see that impossibly perfect face, those mocking eyes, those sensuous lips, which I had just felt on me… "I cannot allow this. Please, I beg you, lord, leave me be!"

His hands were on me again, cupping my upper arms, turning me around to face him, even though I didn't want to, I looked away, trying to avoid his eyes, until he took my chin firmly in his hand and made me look up at him.

"Lillith, this is no test of your chastity or piety." He stepped closer, and a wave of dizziness washed over me as I felt his breath on my face. "I want you. You want me. That is enough."

I shook my head, my eyes closing drunkenly. "No. It isn't. She…she'll kill me!"

He chuckled, the other hand holding my arm loosening, then suddenly his arm was around my waist and he was pulling me against him. "No. I'd never let her." Then his mouth was dangerously close to mine, descending to try to cover my own, to stifle my protests.

"No! She'll know! She—she can hear my thoughts!" I dodged, I cast about desperately for something, anything to say, to stop this…but I wanted it to continue. My hands fluttered helplessly against his chest, not knowing whether to push him away or grasp him and pull him to me.

I wanted him to press me up against the wall and take me, take me roughly, savagely. Make me his.

I had no idea what I was thinking. I had no idea what should pass between a man and a woman, except for the rudiments, the basics…Those had been explained during the lessons regarding the union of god and goddess, the Sacred Marriage.

But I knew I wanted him right then, right there. I wanted every inch of him, on me, over me, _in_ me.

_Oh Goddess! What am I doing!_

I broke away from him with a desperate gasp, almost falling, staggering back a few steps, away from him.

"No!" I turned away from his burning eyes, his hungry stare. "No, I cannot do this. I gave my vow. It is worth more…worth more than this."

His voice was terrible, low, and it shattered me. "You refuse me?"

Suddenly, it was as if there was something else there in the hallway with me. It wasn't a man I saw illuminated by the flickering oil lamps: it was a god.

He loomed so tall above me, his eyes glowing, and it seemed like lightning played in his hair. I felt every hair on my body rise in response to the charge in the air, like static, like the feeling before lightning strikes.

Thunder rolled in the distance.

Then, as suddenly as it had come, it was over, and the man, the impossibly beautiful man, was standing before me, his arms outstretched pleadingly. "Please, forgive me, Lillith, for my impertinence."

I nodded wordlessly, afraid to try to speak, not knowing if my voice would work.

He stepped close again, but did not try to touch me like he had: he took my face tenderly between his cool palms and stared into my eyes.

"She will not see this in your mind when you are in her presence again. Sleep well, my lovely Lillith, and know that you are beloved of the god. He shall protect you. I swear it."

And it was if a door closed somewhere, the sound of finality, a deal done. I felt instant relief flooding me, charging me. She wouldn't know. I was protected.

I was _beloved._

Then he was smiling down at me and I felt that exquisite pain as my bones melted with desire. "Sleep well, lovely." And he kissed me.

Never having been kissed before in my entire life, I did not know what to think. I stood perfectly still, rigidly holding myself in place: if I didn't, I would have thrown myself into that man's arms and wrapped myself around him like a child, like a clinging vine, and borne him to the floor, where perhaps it would have been _me_ as the aggressor, taking him as my own.

His lips were unbelievably soft against mine, his hands holding my face between them ever so tenderly. Yet the electric charge was there again, building within me, burning me up, concentrating in the tender parts of my body, breasts and belly and between my thighs, until I thought I might melt with need.

Then he was gone, and I was alone, left gasping and weak, leaning against the wall so as not to fall.

I hardly slept that night, tossing and turning as if fevered. My whole body was afire with the memory of his touch, with the desire for more. When I did slip into sleep it was a dizzying collage of images and sensations: our bodies, touching, the sweet tang of his sweat on my tongue, the feel of skin sliding effortlessly against skin, and a deep, impossibly profound hunger to be filled.

I awoke in the morning feeling as if I hadn't slept; Palia gave me the evil eye and left without a word. I rose and bathed and dressed myself hurriedly, filled with dread, despite his assurances that everything would be fine. How could I trust him?

I stared at myself in the polished bronze mirror. Tried to see whatever it was he was so intent upon having. I hadn't really looked at myself in years, not looked at my face. Of course, I used the mirror to check my hair and the state of the kohl around my eyes, but I didn't look at my face.

Yes, I was beautiful. It wasn't vanity to say. I was. I even, surprisingly, very similar to her. But there was something different about me from her: where she looked like a living statue, so completely perfect, I was full of life. I was vibrant, I shone. Desire had brought a bloom to my cheeks, a sparkle to my eyes. I was so very _alive_.

I put the mirror down and hurried away; I couldn't afford to be caught up in such thoughts. Should she hear them from me…Oh, I knew I would be in for a beating.

Finally I stood before her chamber door, and the priestesses let me in as usual.

My nerves were twanging with nervousness: I felt like everyone could see it on me, especially her. She would see the marks of his kiss, his hands, upon me. She would hear my thoughts. But when she turned to face me and she smiled, and I knew she didn't know, she couldn't see.

His kiss burned on my lips. His touch throbbed on my skin, every place he had put those hands was awake in a way the rest of my body was not…The smell, the taste, the feel of him, was screaming from every thought, every nerve, every movement of my being…but she didn't see it.

And for the second time, since the High Priestess had read my mind that first day, I began to realize that I was meddling with the unknown. The supernatural had come to dwell in my life, and had made me part of it.

Somehow he had changed me, had marked me as his, had removed her hold on me, at least as far as he was concerned: she saw none of it. Thank the gods.

"Good morning, sweetest. I think I'll have a bath, and then you can go. I have breakfast planned with my lord this morning."

I gritted my teeth and smiled. I helped her bathe and dress and perfume herself, and when she was ready I turned, and there he was.

_Oh, Goddess. What am I doing?_

He smiled down at me, but it wasn't like the night before. There was no overt heat or desire. He was hiding it from _her._

Then I clearly heard his voice in my mind: _Wait for me, my lovely. Wait for me._

Again, the sensation of his lips burned on mine, as if my lips were remembering, as if they had a life of their own. And then I understood that he had placed some kind of ward, or charm, on me with that kiss. It made me his. It marked me.

"That will be all, Lillith. You may go. I shan't want to be disturbed the rest of the day," she said from behind me, breathlessly, sounding like a little girl. I stepped aside, my head bowed, and she went to him.

I watched as she reached up and wound her arms around his neck, standing up on tiptoe to kiss him. I watched as his arms came up and held her, those large hands with their long fingers seeking out the soft, sensitive parts of her beautiful body, his eyes closed with passion as he kissed her. She made a low sound in her throat as she pressed against him, and he lifted her bodily, holding her up, as she wrapped her long, perfect legs around him.

_Jealousy. _

Like acid. Like fiery, bitter, green bile, it set me afire. It consumed me like the desire had consumed me, but not nearly so sweetly. It _hurt_. It burned in a way that made me want to weep, to scream, to thrash and break things.

_He is mine!_ My mind screamed, as I forced myself to look away and back out of the room.

The doors closed behind me with a terrible finality; I knew what was going on behind them. I could almost see it in my mind, the images of him bearing her to the bed, lifting her skirts and thrusting into her, her cries of passion mingling with his…

_No, he isn't._ The dry, pragmatic part of me awakened, shouting at me. _Not in the slightest. You are __**his**__. He isn't __**yours**__. There is a difference._

Yes, of course. I had no claim on _him_. But he did have a claim on _me._

I ran away then, like a hurt child. Like a fool. Like a spurned and silly woman. I ran and ran, until I was in the courtyard, kneeling before the fountain, splashing the cool water on my face, which stung with humiliation.

_You are nothing to him but a whore, Lillith. He wants you, yes, but you are nothing special. Nothing more than an itch he wants to scratch._

_You are pure. You are dedicated to the Goddess. He only wants what he cannot have, he delights in sullying the sanctified. He is a man who enjoys the conquest. If you give yourself to him, he will do nothing but hurt you and destroy you in the end._

I knew it was true. I knew it was right. My well-trained mind spoke the truth.

But oh, how I wanted him anyway. What a traitor is the body, is the part of you that loves, that hungers. No matter how right and logical things might seem, if the body wants something, it fights for it, tooth and nail, until it has it, usually to the soul's detriment.

I didn't know what else to do, but I knew this: I had to get away from him. I had to keep away from _her._ I couldn't put myself into temptation's way again, and ruin everything. I had given up so much to be what I was: a priestess, a learned woman, a person dedicated and sanctified to something special, something wonderful.

I went to the priestess above me and I pleaded illness. She felt my forehead, her brow worried in concern, and told me that yes, I did indeed feel feverish. I laughed like a maniac inside and didn't bother to tell her I was not sick in body, only in mind, and consumed by lust. She sent me to my bed, and told me that she would send word to the High Priestess's chamber that I was ill.

I passed the next several days in my bed, until I could hide no longer. The festival was at hand. I had to do my part.

And so it began. The beginning and the end of my life.


End file.
